


Rhapsody

by Milady



Category: FlashForward
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milady/pseuds/Milady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark Benford is suddenly on the outside, looking in. His lifeline is a string of text messages that ends with a plan to meet. He needs answers, and he knows where to find them.</p><p>Unfortunately, so does somebody else.</p><p>Spoilers: Season 1, through <i>A561984</i> (Episode 10.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhapsody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [srmarybadass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/srmarybadass/gifts).



_                 Stewing in a viscous sense of deja-vu, Mark Benford stared listlessly at the television. Again, he was at a crossroads. All paths loomed under the gloomy possibility of ends he would rather not see: a relapse, a failed marriage, a murder. Could he really murder Demetri – of all people, Demetri?_

_                 Charlie ran up to her father, bright-eyed from the hope of bringing happiness.  “Look, Daddy!” Her little fingers revealed her upturned palm. In it was another woven friendship bracelet. “I made it for you today. You said you lost yours, so I made a new one. Do you need my help again?” _

_                Mark hesitated. Was it this bracelet, rather than the last, that he was wearing in the future? Was it another bracelet that Charlie would make if he destroyed this bracelet? There seemed to be no reason for action, if the future was as steady as Charlie’s determination to weave as many bracelets as he could lose. He wanted to rip it off and toss it into the fire, but all he could do was watch her tie it onto his wrist and say, “Thanks, Charlie.”_

_                The front door opened. Charlie jumped up on the couch. “Mommy! Oooooh, Dylan!”_

_                Mark’s head snapped around and his eyes widened. “What’s going on?”_

_                Olivia shared a heavy look with Mark as she guided Dylan into the living room. “Charlie, take Dylan upstairs.”_

                That had been several days ago. How many exactly, Mark did not know. Time, mostly spent slouching on the sofa while plotting in 160 characters or less, had lost its definition. He no longer had the cycle of the sun and moon shading his Mosaic board with hints of the hour. That had gone down the tubes with his badge (for now, at least.) All he had were those precious 160 characters and the constant flicker of the television. It had been so long since the last message that he jumped at the sudden vibration. He yanked the phone from his pocket and thumbed through to his new text message:

_Not safe now. See you tonight. 3rd level._

                His eyes wandered over to Charlie. She was playing quietly with Dylan, as she had since the day Olivia had brought him home. He put on the best face he could muster. Still, seeing Dylan, a lingering piece of his father, living in his home made Mark’s stomach churn.

                It should have been the easiest choice in the world: let Dr. Simcoe meet his fate at the hands of his captors. He would be erased from the future, and the Benfords’ future would be altered for the better. Olivia would not cheat, and he would not drink. There would be many good days ahead. But that was only what the situation seemed to be, and Mark had learned that nothing was as it seemed to be since the blackout.

                He had gone all the way to Hong Kong to alleviate Demetri’s fear about his missing future. Instead, they were told that Mark was destined to murder him with his service weapon. The gun had disappeared with his job, and Demetri remained alive, but for how long? He was plagued by questions, and the only ones volunteering any answers at all were the two at the head of the Plasma Wakefield project: Drs. Campos and Simcoe. 

                Dr. Simon Campos was currently cooperating with the FBI. Demetri’s texts had offered no more details beyond what could have been observed in the world’s most famous press conference, but Mark believed that Campos’ engagement with the FBI was nothing more than damage control. His ex-boss, Stan Wedeck, and the higher-ups were probably lapping it up, hoping to tie up the entire affair with a neat black bow.

                Meanwhile, Dr. Simcoe had been abducted the same day that Olivia brought Dylan Simcoe home from work. Olivia had only described the scene once, but Mark saw it clearly. The crew that was supposed to transfer Dylan to a private hospital dragged Dr. Simcoe into the back of the ambulance and shot a security guard who tried to interfere. Mark was convinced that Dr. Simcoe had been kidnapped by some muscle associated with his project colleagues, probably Dr. Campos. They wanted to muzzle him before he could lay every secret on the world stage as a mea cupla. If Dr. Simcoe knew anything about the blackout, its cause, and the potential fallibility of the flash-forwards, Mark had to find out. As much as he cringed to think of Simcoe in his house, near Olivia and Charlie, he had to do it. He had to have answers.

                For the past few days, Demetri had been feeding him tidbits of information via text. Certainly he had been doing it secretly. (Wedeck would have blown another gasket if he knew that Mark was still in position to be a liability to the FBI.) Mark was grateful that he was doing it at all, because it was the only thing keeping him going. As an FBI agent, he had always been in the game. Even if he could not stop bad days from happening, he was doing something that might make it just a little better or a little easier. Though the FBI was through with his assistance, he was not done fighting. He had once lost his edge to the bottle, and he would not give it up again, not for any reason. He would find out what had happened to Dr. Simcoe and pump his brain for information. He would find out how the blackout happened, why, and if it could happen again.

                "Olivia, I'm going to meet Demetri."

                Olivia had just returned to the living room with a hot mug cupped between her hands. Her face dropped as her body did to the couch. "You promised Charlie we would watch her movie."

                "I know, I know, but..."  He glanced around instinctively and then closed in on his wife at an angle. "Look, he might be able to give me a hint on this, a clue. Whoever took Simcoe," he whispered stiffly, "isn’t going to turn him in for an interrogation.”

                “What would Demetri know about that?” Her voice was tense. “You told me it wasn’t you.”

                "It wasn’t. Look, Dem told me they were working on some leads and some people close to Dr. Simcoe. Maybe they've gotten somewhere, found some other connections. Dem said he could help, I've gotta check it out. Dr. Simcoe is the only one who wants to tell the truth, and I’ve got plenty of time to listen if I can find him."

                After a long, scrutinizing glance, she waved him off. "Go, go. Be careful."

                Mark kissed his wife quickly and bounced up. "Charlie, Mommy is going to watch the movie with you and Dylan. I have to go out for a little while."

                "Are you going to wear the bracelet I gave you?"

                "Of course! Of course..." He plucked Charlie up for a tickle and a kiss. "You and Mommy have fun."

                "And Dylan."

                "And Dylan." He paused a moment to see if Dylan would acknowledge him at all. When he did not, Mark set Charlie down with another kiss and brushed his wife's outstretched hand on his way out.

_ ---_

_                “Hey, honey.”_

_                Lloyd glanced down at his cell phone, Simon’s name illuminating the darkness of the Benfords’ family room. If one could believe in such a thing as God, one must believe that the coincidence was no such thing at all; Simon was answering Olivia. Mark was dead. Wan with mental, if not physical, exsanguination, he looked up over his shoulder._

_               Olivia staggered back from the railing and pulled her robe around her tightly. “Lloyd!” she blurted, brimming with over-stimulated nerves. “I… uh, I... where is…?”_

_               Lloyd toyed with his phone as the exterior screen went dark. “A call.”_

_               "How long ago?” Olivia approached the railing again, inching toward the stairs. Her arms were folded and her expression was a deep frown. “Is he gone?”               _

_               “A couple of hours, I should say.” He could barely form the words. _

_               “That’s impossible, we…” Her inflection tipped up. _

               “Wakey, wakey!”

               "Dr. Lloyd Simcoe woke with a start, shaking his face and curling back from the offensive disturbance. “What the hell?”

                “Bleach. I didn’t have any smelling salts handy. Sorry.” Simon’s grin grew as he noticed Lloyd’s unhappy expression. “Aw, come now, you can’t think I’d slaughter you and wash up with just Clorox afterward!” He slapped Lloyd’s shoulder roughly. “We both know better than that. It’ll take more than just bleach to spot you out.”

               “If you’re all going to kill me, please just get on with it.”

                As a token gesture, Simon unlocked Lloyd’s wrists, but he was still bound to a seat in the back of a van by rope around his waist and cuffs on the ankles. He sat beside him, as if settling in for a friendly conversation, and flashed another smirk. “Come on! All that work, down the drain? We want you back on the team, Lloyd, back on the side of advancement. We’re pioneers!” His eyes lit up with zeal. “We are trying to push humanity forward, and all this nonsense about our experiment is holding us back. It’s a crime.”

                “But mass murder by ignorance _isn’t_ a crime?”

                “Our purpose is to push the world forward. When the world pushes back, it just means there’s not room for everyone on the wagon. We made a little room.”

                “How can you talk like this? How can you talk like this about lives extinguished in mere minutes?”

                “What do you care about lives?”

                “My wife died!”

                “Ha! As if you were husband of the year. Rubbish. You were through with her ages ago.” Simon threw his arm around his comrade. “Don’t feel badly. It’s not part of our make-up, to be domesticated and suburbanized. Men of our stature stick with our own kind. We impart wisdom and guidance to those worthy of it.” He leaned in. “We take part in our brotherhood. What does a woman understand about that?”

                 Lloyd shook Simon off. “She was my _son’s mother_. My own son could have been killed.”

                 “Well, Lloyd, I thought your gut was up to the job, but you’re as squeamish as a school girl. Shame, really.”

                “We killed _twenty million_ people!            

                “Twenty million people,” mocked Simon. “Fixated on that number, are we? You’re all always fixated on the number that makes you feel most guilty, but have you considered that your twenty million people represents, what, maybe three-tenths of a percent of the total population? Three-tenths of one percent of humanity died for the cause of advancing all mankind. Ten times the figure is a bloody bargain.”

                “The 99.7% of the population our experiment didn’t kill is frightened because they don’t understand what happened. If we explained it to them in a way-”

                “You think the twit bleeding all over the front seat could have understood plasma acceleration if you explained it slowly?”

                Lloyd heard the implication. He had always known that Simon was dangerously self-assured, but he saw now that Simon had crossed a dark line. People nominally in the way of his scientific pursuits were now dispensable.  Although he had little hope, Lloyd tried to buy more time. “No, I suppose I don’t. Really, the project is inaccessible to the layman, but if people could be _forced_ to believe they are safe, things would quiet down.” He leaned in as far as he could. “People are frightened by ignorance. Why can’t we alleviate those fears? If we do, we might even be able to proceed.”

                "A man is never closer to the gods than when his fellow men fear his knowledge. The masses hide behind their own gods, like sorry, scared children, and proclaim: death upon the man who does not hide as I do! He is immodest and arrogant! He is dangerous." Simon rounded on Lloyd and grabbed his shoulder to hold his prey's ear under his breath. "And we are dangerous. We've proved it, haven't we?"

                Lloyd twisted to fix a glare. "You were shying off that label."

                "At your dreadful presser, while you were ducking behind your podium like a dusty, hunchbacked academic," he sneered, "to avoid the stray shots.”

                “They’re afraid!”

                “And that is why, like the great men of antiquity, I am ahead of the curve. I do not fear. I am creating. I am reordering the world in my image. When I am done, they will think as I tell them to and not slip into the rot of sentiment.” Simon leaned in and held Lloyd’s face tight and square by the chin. “You could too, if you come around before it is too late for both of you.” Feeling the van pull to a stop, Simon put on his show face and patted Lloyd’s cheek tenderly. “Be a good boy, now, and just wait here quietly. You wouldn’t want to mess up my business.”

                “What business?”

                “Special Agent Benford and I have a transaction to make.”

                Lloyd swallowed his fear and closed his eyes. He had hoped constantly that Olivia took Dylan after the abduction. Now he hoped that Mark was as humane as he had seemed on Halloween.

                Simon hopped out of the rear doors and shut them again. Trussed up as he was, Lloyd was going nowhere.  He popped a phone out of his pocket and thumbed into the inbox.

                _Yeah. 9pm, 3rd floor. See you then._

                T-minus fifteen minutes.

_ ---_

_There are plenty of ways you can hurt a man  
And bring him to the ground  
You can beat him  
You can cheat him  
You can treat him bad and leave him  
When he's down_

But I'm ready, yes I'm ready for you  
I'm standing on my own two feet  
Out of the doorway the bullets rip  
repeating the sound of the beat**[i]**

                At the front of the van, Simon knocked on the driver’s window and signaled for him to roll it down. The CD player was blaring.

                “Boss?”

                “Would you mind turning that down?’

                “Sure.” He turned the dial to the left. “Why?’

                He watched the driver’s body slump down and smear blood across the seat. “Had to test the suppressor. Sorry.”

_\---_

_Empty spaces - what are we living for  
Abandoned places - I guess we know the score  
On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for?_

_Another hero, another mindless crime  
Behind the curtain, in the pantomime  
Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore?**[ii]**_

Although thinking the entire thing was all a bit cloak and dagger, Special Agent Demetri Noh pulled his car into the far corner of the garage. The cut to the engine silenced Freddie Mercury and company. Demetri was relieved. A clandestine meeting with Mark didn’t need a dramatic soundtrack. Pocketing his keys and stepping out of the car, he longed for the days of chasing scumbags through alleys.

                He had been surprised to see a text from Mark. Demetri had tried to get in touch with him for several days. He didn't really blame him for keeping his profile low after Hong Kong, but it was a little upsetting. Without Mark's input, Demetri felt like he was constantly striking out. The Hong Kong escapade was shaming him into keeping his head down, even as his boss was dangling the keys of the kingdom in front of Dr. Campos. His skin crawled at the thought of trusting this bastard for a second, but he could say nothing. After a long, deep breath, he leaned against his car and hoped Mark would show up soon.

                Five minutes later, Mark eyed the dark van parked down the row from the meeting point. Vans were inherently suspicious and doubly so when parked in a conspicuously deserted area. The garage was being completely renovated and was in a state of shambles currently, filled only with construction clutter. It had seemed to be an excellent place for such a meeting, but now…

                After a short consideration, Mark decided had no time for foolish paranoia. He parked the car slightly away from the corner and looked around for Demetri.

                Obscured by a long shadow, Demetri raised his arm and waved it to signal Mark. “Over here.” He stepped forward to meet him. “It was good to hear from you, man. How are you holding up?”

                “Been better.”

                “Who hasn’t? It’s tough on everyone now.  We’re chasing ghosts because it shows better than Mosaic.”

                “You never were fully on board with Mosaic.”

                “You know what? I was. By the end, I was.”

                “So you think it’s over?”

                “Uh…” Demetri’s eyes darted around the dark garage to waste time.  “At least you don’t have to worry about it killing me, right?”

                “Yeah…. Yeah.”

                “I’m sorry, Mark.”

                “Thanks, Dem.” He paused. “Anyway, I think if I can just talk to Simcoe, I might be able to get ahead of this.”

                Demetri was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

                “You didn’t think I was going to give up on Mosaic, did you?”

                 Demetri stepped into Mark’s personal space. “Mark, is that what you wanted to meet about? Going solo on this isn’t going to get you back in. This is the kind of crap that put you out in the first place. You know I don’t agree with it, but that’s the way it is. You’ve got to stay put while this all quiets down, or it’s game over. I don’t want to see that happen.”

                Mark bristled. “All the same, I need to know about Simcoe.”

                “What about Dr. Simcoe?”

                “The information on what happened to Dr. Simcoe.”

                “We don’t have any information. All we’ve got is that damn partner of his, Dr. Campos.”

                Incredulous, Mark raised his eyebrows. “Dem, come on.”

                “What?”

                “Don’t do this. If it comes down on me, then it’s on me. I just need to know what you have.”

                “I don’t _have_ anything, and even if I had something, I couldn’t help you with this one.”

                “Don’t jerk me around on this!”

                “Mark, I’m not jerking you around! I don’t even know what you’re talking- oof!“ Demetri staggered back, doubled over, and reached out to Mark. Before he could grab his hand, he toppled and hit the ground hard. He was out cold but momentarily alive.

                “Dem!” Mark fell to his knees and reached immediately for Demetri’s head. He tried to wake him and check for a pulse at the same time. He would not come around, but he was alive for now.

                Instinctively, Mark reached for his missing holster. He wasted several seconds groping for it before grabbing Demetri’s gun and cuffs. As soon as Mark moved out into the light, gun first, he saw a weapon, silencer attached, lying on the ground. He grabbed it and packed it away to keep his hands free.

                Then, a figure stepped out into the light. “No need for further violence, Agent Benford.”

                Mark recognized him from the press conference. “Get down on the ground, Dr. Campos!”

                “Ah, I don’t think so.”

                “The ground, NOW!”

                Simon held up his hands. “Right, I suppose I can see why you would want that, me to wait nicely for the authorities to show up. Aren’t you a touch worried about being put up for your partner’s murder, though?”

                “_I_ didn’t shoot Demetri!”

                “But it’s only your prints on the gun.” Simon waved his fingers. They were covered by gloves. “And your serial number.”

                Enraged, Mark fired off a warning shot that sailed by Simon’s head. “They took that gun off me in Hong Kong! I would have had to go through hell and back to get my hands on an FBI service weapon.”

                “A desperate man would do anything. All those texts, digging for information, and then luring poor Agent Noh to a dark carpark… it doesn’t reflect well.”

                The fog was clearing. “You sent those text messages? You were luring me here- both of us here! What was the point, you bastard? What!”

                “It doesn’t much matter, as the forensic evidence will tell the_ interesting_ tale: Ousted FBI agent Kills Partner in Cold Blood. But, buck up! You can toddle off to prison knowing the future isn’t written in stone.”

                “How the hell would you know? You don’t think you’re responsible!”

                “But I’ve changed the future!” taunted Simon. “You know you didn’t kill Agent Noh, though nobody will believe you, and he didn’t make it to March after all. You know, I’ve done you a favor, really, something you can take heart in. The future is not inevitable. Man is in control. What more do you need to know?  You should walk away now before that gunshot brings the police around, change your own future.”

                Mark’s face reset itself, suffering to mask the quivering anger. Dem was just collateral damage to this man, an attempt to plow the road clear of anyone who might stand in his way.  “I’m not going to stop.”

                “Pity that Agent Noh died for nothing. I thought a little proof would settle you down, keep you from nosing around in places where you could get hurt. Don’t you have a family to protect? I hear you even have an addition lately, a new friend for Charlie.”

                “Stay away from my family!” he growled.

                “I’m just saying that it must be a little tough, holding on to Dr. Simcoe’s kid while he’s, well, missing? Who knows, maybe they want the boy as well. Could get ugly.”

                Mark’s blood was boiling. It had come to this, the moment where he was a trigger away from murdering someone to protect the son of the man in his wife’s flash-forward. How had he come to this point? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

                “Of course not.”

                His finger trembled on the trigger. Demetri needed an ambulance immediately to have any chance at living, but Dr. Campos could not know that he was still alive. He would probably shoot Demetri again to finish the job. Mark made the bargain with himself that he would kill the man in two minutes if he wasn’t gone. “I don’t believe your bullshit for a second. I will find Dr. Simcoe and I will find out exactly what part you and your damn experiment had in this!”

                “I am the only one capable and willing to prove that it was not the experiment that caused the blackout. The FBI is most interested in my assistance in clearing this little falsehood off of their desks. The sooner I can extricate my work from this mess, the sooner they can get back to your pet project, the Mosaic. You wouldn’t want to stand in the way of that.”

                “Your partner believes the experiment is responsible.”

                “Ah, just guilt, I’m sure. Feels badly that his son’s mother was one of the unlucky ones. Maybe you want to ask him yourself? Come on, then!”

                “No way.” Mark readjusted the gun, steadying his aim at Simon’s head. “You lured us out here and used Demetri like a lab rat. I don’t know what you’re after, buddy, but I’m not playing anymore. If you’ve got him, bring him here or get the hell out before I change my mind about killing you.”

                “Fine, fine, stay right there. You want to see him? I’ll show him to you. You can even have a chat.” Simon moved away from Mark with increasing speed. Just as he reached the van doors, he turned. While one hand pulled the latch on the van door, the other was fingering the gun tucked into his belt.

                As Agent Benford would not be scared off of his fox hunt, killing him and leaving the evidence to wrap the scene up neatly was the only solution. When Lloyd saw that Olivia Benford, correctly presumed to have possession of Dylan, was no longer protected by her personal FBI agent, he would have to come around. The Little Agent Who Could would be out of the way, Lloyd would be forced into his place, and Simon could lead the charge out of their public tailspin unopposed.

               Still at distance, Mark moved sideways. He would have to see a human figure in the back of the van before he would come any closer. He was not about to be ambushed and share a shallow grave with Lloyd Simcoe.

                Simon popped open the van doors and waved blindly at Mark. “Come on, a little closer! Come say hello to Dr. Simcoe!” Gingerly, he reached for the gun and stared into Lloyd’s eyes. “We know that Benford’s wife has your son. Think she can fight us with a scalpel-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Simon clutched his burning face and eyes and fell to the ground in agony.

                Mark approached the scene cautiously, gun drawn, and was stunned to see Lloyd, still tied to a seat, staring out at him. An open bleach jug was dangling from his fingers.

                “Please, tell me, is Dylan safe?”

                “Safe. Just… stay there.” Mark gestured with his hands awkwardly as he bent over to drag Simon to a metal post and cuff him to it. Then he sprinted back to Demetri’s side and pulled him up in his arms while he called 911. “Come on, Dem, hold on… hello? Yeah, please, my partner’s been shot! I need two ambulances right way. The closed garage across from Southland University Hospital, third level, southwest corner. I have an FBI agent down and a suspect with chemical burns. Yes, FBI agent, he’s been shot, he’s unconscious…” Mark glanced down at Demetri, who was conscious, but just barely. Had he waited too long? “Hurry up,” he begged the operator. “He’s going to-“

                “…Not yet.”

_So you feel like it's end of story  
Find it all pretty satisfactory  
Well, I tell you my friend  
This might seem like an end  
But the continuation is  
Yours for the making**[iii]**_

 

 

* * *

[i] “Another One Bites the Dust” – written by John Deacon

[ii] “The Show Must Go On” – written by Queen

[iii] “The Hero” – written by Brian May


End file.
